


Primrose Lullabies

by dekuvibes



Category: Naruto
Genre: Drabble, Fluff and Angst, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, M/M, Uchiha Madara Has Issues, implied marriage, just a short little thing i came up with on a whim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 11:47:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21118268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dekuvibes/pseuds/dekuvibes
Summary: No matter how many years passed since their first kiss, their first night together, Hashirama never failed to make him feel unexplainable things. It was as if the man had the power to make his heart lurch out of his chest at any moment that he so pleased.(In which Madara has a moment of emotional vulnerability, and Hashirama is there to wipe away his tears).





	Primrose Lullabies

**Author's Note:**

> this is my??????? first fic in a long while. i got pretty discouraged for awhile, but my creative writing class combined with my immense love and appreciation of these two put my brain into go mode.
> 
> i have a lot more ideas and aus id like to write about, but for now, here’s an angsty (but soft) drabble!

“...Hashirama, has your hair..._ always _ been this much of a pain in the ass?”

“Huh?”

The two men were in bed, intertwined messily, limbs lingering after a comfortable night’s sleep— at least, until one of Madara’s hands found itself sifting through Hashirama’s hair. He absentmindedly propped himself up on his other free arm, muttering.

“Your _ hair, _ Hashirama. It’s gotten so long,” He twirled a long strand of it around his finger, eyeing it for a moment, before returning his sleep filled gaze back to his lover. “It’s...nice,” _ It’s beautiful, you’re beautiful, more than anything else on this unforgiving planet; I wish everything felt this warm and inviting, _ Madara adds in his head, “But my _ gods_, Hashirama, can’t you ever tie it up when you sleep? It gets on my face and makes me wake up sneezing. If I was in any sane mind, I might actually think you have pollen in your hair.”

Hashirama flashed an apologetic smile from his pillow, said hair that wasn’t in Madara’s hands resting delicately along his curvature. “Well, Tobirama has said that the side effects of the Mokuton could cause things like that,” He paused, laughing in a sheepish manner, “My mistake, Madara! I should have thought to mention it sooner!”

Madara stared Hashirama down, flabbergasted — _ was he really?— _ by his response. “I wasn’t being _ serious, _you fool! You’re telling me there’s legitimately pollen in your hair—“

“_Could _ be! Could be, Madara, emphasis on the maybe,” Hashirama pleaded his hypothetical innocence, brushing his thumb gently across Madara’s hand. “But your sneezes are adorable, Madara! They’re like— they’re like the mewls of those little kittens you feed at the corner every morning, you know?”

“You’re ridiculous, Hashirama. I’m never sleeping with you again.”

“Madaraaaa!”

“You heard me,” Madara let go of Hashirama’s hair and turned his head up and away, mostly due in part to the red rushing to his cheeks. He didn’t make it a habit to bring up the stray cats. He saw no need to, as he was more content with petting and feeding them and letting them go on their way. After all, they enjoyed their freedom as much as he enjoyed their company— so hearing that Hashirama noticed small things like that made a part of his heart flutter; out of embarrassment? Happiness? He couldn’t say. _ Damn Senju, _ he thinks, silently cursing under his breath. No matter how many years passed since their first kiss, their first night together, Hashirama never failed to make him feel unexplainable things. It was as if the man had the power to make his heart lurch out of his chest at any moment that he so pleased. There were times that he felt guilt over this, wondering what good he had done in the world to deserve being loved by such an ethereal, divine being (_none, Madara, you let your clan down, you’re a failure of a leader, you let your brother die). Damn Senju, _ he thinks again, _ I don’t deserve you. I never deserved you. _

“...Madara?” 

He had been so caught up in the moment, in his head, that he hadn’t even noticed Hashirama reaching out for him, face twisted in concern, hand on his cheek— He stared in confusion until a part of himself registered the damp trail running down from his face. He placed his now free hand on his cheek, feeling an uncomfortable amount of warmth — _ the Sharingan? — _emanating from above. “Shit,” he whispered, panic setting in. “Shit-“

“Madara,” Hashirama quickly sat up, other hand rushing to cup the rest of Madara’s face. “Madara, it’s okay. _ It’s okay,” _ He murmured, gentle eyes speaking volumes to his concern. Sleepy grogginess was a thought of the past for him; now, all that was important was calming the other man down. “I love you, Madara. _ Please _, talk to me.”

“It’s— It’s nothing. It’s nothing,” Madara choked out, trying to ignore the tears and the look of concern and the amount of anxiety that was slowly welling up in his chest. They were just laughing and yelling about Hashirama’s ridiculous pollen hair— was he that much of a mess that he could not even keep up a light hearted, sleepy conversation without his mind tugging him to someplace dark? Pathetic. _ Pathetic, Madara, I expect more of you as the clan heir, _he hears the unforgiving voice of his father hiss. 

“It’s not nothing, Madara!” Hashirama insisted, one hand moving to swipe away a lingering tear that dared to try drip down Madara’s cheek. “You hardly ever get this bad,” He breathed, almost looking like he was on the verge of tears himself, “Let me help you, Madara. I’m here for you. I promise.” Pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, Hashirama pulled him into a hug, slowly running his hands down the entangled clumps of Madara’s hair.

_ Faltering in front of an enemy can cost you your life. Do you want to die like your brothers did, Madara— Get your act together— _Those words of Tajima’s lingered in his mind, drilled into his head before he could even properly hold a kunai; never falter, never let anyone know how you feel, the only use you serve is for the Uchiha. Do not let the Uchiha down. 

“I can’t— I can’t, Hashirama, I—“ Madara once again sputtered on his words, hands trembling as the clutched onto Hashirama’s clothes. “I don’t deserve this,” _ I don’t deserve you. “ _ I have no right to feel this happy, going against my brother’s dying request like this—“ He held back another sob— “Do you think Izuna would be happy, Hashirama?” _ He’s laughing for me. I told you so, Nii-san. _

“Madara.” Hashirama momentarily pulled away from the hug to look Madara directly in the eyes, face solemn. If there was any indication that the situation was serious— it was that Madara had brought up Izuna by name. He never brought up Izuna by name; it still brought back too much pain. “I know I cannot change the past—“ A pause— “As much as I wish I could, as much as I wish things were different...but I think, I think— he would be happy to see you happy, Madara.” 

“That’s the _ thing, _ Hashirama— I— why was _ I _the one that got to live? Why am I the one allowed this happiness? All of this was meant to be for him,” The him, Izuna, went unspoken— “Yet here I am, selfishly ignoring his last words. His last words, and I failed to uphold them—“

Hashirama felt his heart shatter through his chest. He knew Madara struggled with the loss of his last brother, a loss that he both could understand yet not understand in a million years— but he had no idea that Madara’s thoughts travelled that far, to the point that he felt undeserving of his happiness. In a sense, he could understand it; it was hard to cope with the deaths of their younger brothers, even more so when they had spoken so valiantly as teenagers about building the village to protect them. However, he vowed to himself the day Konoha was founded that he would live to protect the new young, live to honor his brothers’ memory. He had hoped Madara shared the same sentiment. 

“It’s not your fault, Madara. It’s not your fault.” Hashirama ran his hands through his lover’s hair again. “There is so much hurt I wish I could have prevented. I could have stopped Tobirama, if I only—“

“Stop it,” Madara grabbed onto Hashirama’s wrist and stared up at him, tears no longer in his eyes but the familiar dampness and uncomfortable aura of the Sharingan still there, “It’s not your fault either, Hashirama. You didn’t know— none of us knew— you’re not responsible for that bastard’s actions,“ There was a point in time, he recalled, that he did feel Hashirama was responsible; how he wanted to cuss out the Senju head, spewing obscenities left and right about how it was his duty to control his warriors, whether they be friend, lover, or brother— but he knew now that Hashirama only ever wanted peace. If he could have stopped his brother, he would have. It wasn’t his fault.

“Madara…..” Hashirama trailed off, hands still working their way down Madara’s hair to now, his back— “I’m sorry. I know...the past is painful. But if anything, it did lead to this...and I wouldn’t ever want to change this. Never this.” Another soft kiss, this time on his forehead. “I love you, Madara. You deserve every inch of happiness that this world has to give. _ You _ were the one that made me realize, for the first time in my life,” He was staring directly into Madara’s eyes again, face softened, “the divine truly do exist.” 

After that statement, there was nothing more Madara could do but bury himself in Hashirama’s arms, sniffling and letting the tug of weariness lull him slowly back to sleep. The two stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity, rocking back and forth, forgetting all parts of the world but each other’s arms.

“Hashirama,”

“Yes, Madara?”

“I love you too.”

Although his eyes were closed, a part of him could sense the upturn of Hashirama’s lips. He curled further into the the man’s chest as Hashirama began to hum, and he felt his grasp on consciousness finally start to slip. 

_ I love you more than you could know. _


End file.
